


Little Falcon

by Miroya



Category: SpellForce (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 07:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20502998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miroya/pseuds/Miroya
Summary: Only a madman or a liar will say that they are not afraid of the Fial Darg. But you can feel fear and stand straight, carrying your duty.





	Little Falcon

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Маленькая соколица](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/516197) by Миройя. 

“Greetings, High-Keeper,” recruit Arenor Arandir said, entering into her mentor’s office. Her eyes were bright with excitement – today she had to keep her first watch at the tomb of the Fial Darg.  
  
High-Keeper Marion laid down her quill and looked at Arenor, who quietly waited for orders, with the same careful attention as when they met first time.  
  
“So you’re here, little Arandir.”  
  
“I’m not so little, High-Keeper,” Arenor dared to say, unwittingly trying to look taller. “I’m a woman of royal blood.”  
  
“Of course,” There was no patronizing tone in Marion’s voice, usual for adults, when they talk to six-years-old “woman”, and Arenor liked it. “But first of all, you are my disciple, and now is time for a lesson. Let’s go, while the sun is not too high…”  
  
Marion and Arenor left the fortress, crossed the yard, covered with sand, and headed to the ancient tomb, carved in the rocks of Aonir’s Blade. Four knights guarded the entrance; they wore full-plate gilded armor, despite the heat, and orange cloaks bearing the emblem of the Falcons. Arenor wasn’t allowed to wear this yet, and for a moment she regretted it.  
  
“You can go,” Marion nodded to the Keepers. “Me and recruit Arandir will take watch over.”  
  
Iron Falcons, whose names Arenor haven’t learned yet, silently, ceremonially saluted them and left. Marion and her disciple came closer; the entrance of the tomb was sealed with pale blue magic veil, its gleam fell on polished stone steps.  
  
“The seal must be checked time from time, and fastened, if this needed,” Marion said. “No, you haven’t powers for that yet; you’ll learn later. For now, just watch.”  
  
Marion focused on seal, Arenor watched, trying to catch something with her magical gift... and froze when breath of decay and death, coming even through the barrier, touched her. Arenor always considered herself as a brave girl – and not without reason. She wasn’t afraid of either darkness or wild beasts, and without hesitation climbed those trees, which her brother Angar didn’t dare to. Even the Undead at the way to Aonir’s Blade didn’t scare her, though Arenor saw it from a safe distance. But now, feeling the menacing presence of the Fial Darg, she froze in horror, realizing her helplessness – just like a grain of sand compared to giant rocks. The scorching desert heat, that Arenor was often complaining about in her head, disappeared, only the cold remained, and darkness, and whisper in her mind, oppressing, overwhelming, calling her to stop fighting…  
  
_“No,”_ Arenor clenched her fists. _“Iron Falcons don’t surrender. I promised Myrah to protect her, and I promised to my parents to keep the honor of House Arandir…” _  
  
Marion’s hand, warm, living, touched Arenor’s head, and illusion completely vanished.  
  
“You’re scared.”  
  
That was a statement, not a question, but Arenor gathered her strength and lied. “N-no, High-Keeper.”  
  
“That’s not true,” Marion shook her head. “There’s no shame in fear. I’m scared too.”  
  
“You?” High-Keeper’s gaze was calm and confident as usual, she kept her proud posture.  
  
“Yes, I am,” Marion said. “Only a madman or a liar will say that they are not afraid of the Fial Darg. But you can feel fear and stand straight, carrying your duty. You see, Arenor, fear is the most powerful weapon of Princes of Darkness; not their lethal magic, not a hordes of undead that they awaken. In times of War of the Six Races many died only because they drop their weapons and fled at the sight of the Fial Darg, leaving their brothers and sisters at the battlefield.”  
  
Arenor didn’t answer, just straighten her shoulders, as if she protected someone. She couldn’t say whom she defended, her own brother and sister, or people who died many years before her birth.  
  
“There were other, who overcame their fear, stayed and fought back – and they died too, of course,” Marion continued. “But none of their deeds were in vain. It is because of their sacrifice that Guardians could imprison the Fial Darg. Since then, every our disciple challenges their fear here, and takes their Keeper vows here. Now ask yourself, Arenor – did you prevail?”  
  
“Yes,” Arenor’s voice didn't tremble.  
  
“Good,” Marion looked into her face. “Your first trial is over – the first of many. May the Guardians help you bear them as steadily and bravely as now, Arenor Arandir.”


End file.
